


we rest as one soul

by ishipitsobad



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alexander Pierce and Brock Rumlow are shitstain scumbags, Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Artist Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, F/F, F/M, Graphic descriptions of triggering stuff, Hurt Bucky, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Bucky Barnes, PTSD, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stillbirth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2018-08-14 05:56:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8001037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishipitsobad/pseuds/ishipitsobad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title taken from: Golden Love by Midnight Youth</p><p>Steve presented as an Alpha, but hid it because it nearly killed him, and he felt like an embarrassment.<br/>Bucky presented as an Omega, and suffered for it.</p><p>Steve believes he doesn't deserve Bucky, and on a Howard Stark scholarship, goes abroad to study art. He comes back years later, and finds Bucky a changed person.</p><p>Can he save Bucky? Is he enough?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [What I Used To Be](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6915553) by [thepinupchemist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepinupchemist/pseuds/thepinupchemist). 



> Been reading Stucky fics nonstop--eventually, the urge to write one of my own arose. There aren't enough A/B/O Stucky Mpreg fics out there, and I'm a nothing-but-alpha!Steve-and-omega!Bucky person.
> 
> This is my first ever Stucky fic--if you can't get your head around the Dynamics and secondary genders and how their body works, here's a quick summary:
> 
> Alphas have knots. Female alphas can impregnate and be impregnated.  
> Betas are just like regular people.  
> Male omegas can get pregnant.
> 
> As for the nitty gritty biological details, I'll leave that up to your imagination.

**_Prologue_ **

_Steve and Bucky meet when they are eight. Bucky’s ma used to say that they were fated. But what kind of fated, time would only tell._

_James “Bucky” Barnes was taking a shortcut through an alley on his way home from school, grumbling to himself about the homework in his backpack, where it was already making his shoulders ache. His head was down, focused on scuffing the soles of his sneakers (Winifred Barnes would have given his ear a good pinching if she caught him) and that was probably why he didn’t notice straightaway that he wasn’t the only person in the alley._

_“…do this all day,” someone, someone young, was saying. At least, that was what it sounded like they were saying. Bucky couldn’t really tell when the person seemed to be suffering from a nasty case of blocked nose._

_Someone else was sneering, and it was followed by a muffled thump, a groan, a clash of body against metal trash can. Bucky’s feet was carrying him forward before he even registered what was happening._

_“Hey!” he shouted. Just around the corner, behind piles of garbage bags and trashcans all stacked up against each other, was a bunch of boys maybe his age or older. They surrounded a tow-headed little kid who couldn’t be more than six. A six-year old, who looked like a small breeze could whisk him away, was clutching his side and bleeding from his mouth and nose. The sight got Bucky’s blood pumping with rage, and before he even thought to ask what was going on, he was launching himself at the older boys and swinging his heavy-ass backpack at them._

_He gave as good as he gets, and eventually they figured he’s a much more even fight, and scattered like the cowards they are. Bucky spat a bit of blood on the ground, wincing at the stinging cut on the inside of his cheek. He wouldn’t be surprised if he went home and found himself sporting a blooming black eye. His ma was going to fix him up, then murder him herself._

_The wrath of Winifred Barnes wasn’t really something he wanted to spend too much time thinking about, so he turns his attention to the kid still hunched over on the ground._

_“You okay?” he asked, and immediately felt stupid for asking. The kid looked like a hellhound had chewed him up, found him too bony for its taste, and spat him back out._

_His ma always did say he had a way with words._

_“’m fine,” the little kid groused. “I ‘ad ‘em on the ropes.”_

_“Sure you did,” Bucky snorted. “’m James Barnes.”_

_“I know,” the kid wheezed, leaning his head back against the grimy brick wall of the alley. “Steve Rogers.”_

_“You do?” Bucky is stunned. How?_

_“We’re in the same class.”_

_Bucky was stunned speechless. He mentally ran down the list of his classmates, pretty damn sure he’d never seen Steve Rogers before now—_

_“You’re the kid who’s always home sick!” Bucky clapped a hand over his mouth. And being sick so often… it was probably the reason why this guy looked like he weighed 40 pounds soaking weight._

_Steve looked like he’d rather be anywhere but here. “Yeah. You name it, I’ve had it.”_

_“Well,” Bucky didn’t really know what to say. “What the hell were you doing, picking a fight with those kids?”_

_The blonde scowled. “They were picking on a girl.”_

_“What girl?”_

_“Told ‘er to run as soon as I got their attention.”_

_Bucky smiled; Steve wasn’t crazy after all. Still an idiot, but not a bad idiot. He held out a hand to pull him up, and after a brief moment where was eyed suspiciously, Steve took it._

_“I gotta get home before it gets dark,” Bucky grinned, flinching when it aggravated the cut on the inside of his mouth. “But my ma can fix up any wound. Wanna come over?”_

_“Can’t,” Steve sounded truly regretful. “My mom doesn’t even know I’m out. I have to get back before she does.”_

_“Oh,” Bucky frowned._

_“But we can hang out during recess?” it was more of a hopeful question than a statement, and Bucky’s smile lit up his face again._

_“Yeah, sure.”_

* * *

_As it turned out, Steve and Bucky’s mothers worked as nurses in the same hospital. Different departments, different levels, but they knew of each other. When they heard about their sons getting acquainted, they themselves got closer, bonding over shared child-rearing tales and the woes of having headstrong eight-year old troublemakers who didn’t know how to back down from a fight._

_The two boys went from respectful camaraderie, to friends who shared the same principles, to best friends who did everything together._

_Birthdays, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s, Easter… The Rogers spent it all with the Barnes. There wasn’t much resistance either: Steve’s dad had passed away before he was born, a soldier in the Gulf War, and suffering the loss of her Alpha, Sarah Rogers had gone into early labor and given birth to a severely premature Steven Grant Rogers. As a result of the traumatic and too-soon arrival, Steve’s outlook on life was grim. From day one, he was riddled with more vulnerabilities than the average baby: jaundice, colic, whooping cough, ear infections, croup, asthma…an exhausted Sarah Rogers would shake her head as she wore the floors rocking a screaming Steve and wonder if he was doing his damnedest to contract every known illness before he even got a chance to walk._

_After he got over all the childhood illnesses, he went on to collect the badges for every other known illness. Colds, flus, bronchitis, scarlet fever, chickenpox, and the list went on and on. He was physically underdeveloped, and doctors would look ominous and foreboding, and say to Sarah Rogers in quiet aside that he wouldn’t be expected to live past his teens, if he could even_ make it _that far._

_But Sarah Rogers was nothing if not persevering, and those genes for downright mulish stubbornness in everything they did were proof the pair were mother and son, as if their wheat-gold hair and brilliant baby blues weren’t prominent enough._

_Steve lived long enough to blow out the candles of his fifteenth birthday cake, and Sarah’s genes for stubbornness decided that was as much as they could give. He caught pneumonia, nearly died but survived under her careful watch; a week after he made full recovery, she was killed in a car accident on her way home from the hospital, and the part of Steve that all the other boys mocked him for, insulted him for being a “momma’s boy”, the part that prided itself on his unflagging love and devotion to his mother…shattered._

* * *

_Girls began presenting around the age of twelve, differentiating into Omegas, Alphas and Betas. Their scents supposedly started changing, but prepubescent boys wouldn’t be able to tell the difference until they themselves presented, and their bodies’ senses sharpened._

_Steve, at fifteen, could already guess what he was going to present as. Weak, and small…it wouldn’t take an idiot to figure he was going to be an Omega. And at fifteen, he was in love with his best friend._

_Bucky had grown up to be charismatic, handsome, strong and just amazing. Despite how many other kids bashed Steve for being a runt, Bucky never saw Steve as a burden. In fact, he seemed to glory in being Steve’s friend, like it was some kind of honor. When Sarah Rogers passed, Bucky was the only one Steve let into his room, and let hold him until he cried himself to sleep. Promises were whispered in the dark of Steve’s room that night of Sarah Roger’s funeral, and they were promises Steve kept close to his heart:_

_“I won’t ever leave you,” Bucky had said fiercely, voice firm with determination. “Never ever. I’ll always be with you. ‘til the end of the line, okay?”_

_Steve had choked out an “okay”, and continued to sob._

_And could you blame Steve for falling in love with Bucky?_

_With Bucky’s swagger and charm, people figured he’d present Alpha. Steve could only hope that he himself would present Omega, and that puberty would give his body a much need growth spurt so he’d at least be healthy enough for Bucky to consider mating._

* * *

_Then it happened._

_Steve arrived at school and was surprised to see that Bucky wasn’t already on the front steps, waiting for him as he usually did (Bucky usually got up earlier to wake his little sisters and herd them into getting ready for school). He didn’t see him at his locker, not in homeroom, not at lunch, not in any of the classes they shared. All throughout the day, he didn’t see or hear a word about Bucky; all throughout the day, there was a weird tugging sensation in his chest, like he needed to be somewhere else. After school, he headed home; Winifred Barnes had taken guardianship over Steve, but Steve had refused to leave the apartment where Sarah had raised him. Eventually, they compromised—Steve would come over for meals at least once a day, and Winifred would visit during weekends to make sure the place wasn’t falling apart. To his credit, Steve kept a tight ship and there was never a sock lying around._

_When he arrived at the front door, he somehow wasn’t surprised to see Winifred waiting for him, even though it was a Friday._

_As he opened his mouth to ask her where Bucky was, he managed to catch a scent off her. It was strange; normally, he wouldn’t be able to do such a thing until he presented. But at that moment, concern for Bucky took priority. At the back of his mind, however, it registered the scent as_ incredibly mouthwatering _, and urged him to ask about that scent._

_“Where’s Bucky?” he asked instead._

_“Steve…” Winifred wrung her hands. “Bucky presented.”_

_The rest was left unsaid. It didn’t take but a second for Steve’s brain to connect the dots: that trace of a sweet, warm scent like baking goods that lingered on Winifred and her expression, because she of all people knew best about Steve’s feelings towards her son._

_Bucky had presented as an Omega._

_Steve didn’t know what happened after that, if they even spoke about what was going to happen, if Bucky was okay. All he knows is that the tugging sensation in his chest got stronger, and spread down to his gut and then further down to his groin. It turned into a burning, aching need, one Steve didn’t understand, and he collapsed on the floor of the living room._

_The next thing he knew was waking to in the familiar sight of hospital lights, and Winifred Barnes hovering over him anxiously._

_He was running a fever like no other, and his body had been dunked in an ice bath multiple times, but his temperature showed no signs of going down. Doctors couldn’t figure what the source of his illness was, and how it had come up. Some suggested it was a relapse of his immunity, others mentioned a foreign bug. He responded to none of the treatments, and even violently reacted to some._

_It wasn’t until he complained of his nether regions hurting so bad like they were going to burst and the feeling of his skin too tight, that they realized what was happening._

_Steve was presenting as Alpha. And the rut, the production of a knot, was killing him._

_They immediately put him on suppressants so heavy-duty, that they blocked out every trace of his Alpha traits._

_They didn’t say it, nobody did. They didn’t have to. Steve could tell by the way they looked at him that he was an embarrassment of an Alpha._

* * *

_Bucky came back to school the following week, and by then all the presented kids knew he was an Omega._

_Nobody knew Steve had presented Alpha._

_Boys like Greg Waterson, who had shoved Steve into lockers whenever Bucky wasn’t around, surrounded Bucky and sneered._

_“Look who turned out to be a whore,” Greg smirked. “Always knew you were a pussy deep down. Gonna spread your legs for any Alpha that walks past.”_

_Bucky stared at him in stony silence, and Steve paused in the hallway, wondering why he hadn’t spat in Greg’s face yet._

_Greg’s friends started in on it, too, but Bucky remained sphinx-like, and eventually they got bored with the verbal abuse. They decided to get physical, and that’s when Bucky lashed out. Determined to back up his friend, Steve threw himself into the fray._

_But it nagged at him: why hadn’t Bucky called those bullies out on their shit? Why had he just stood there, and taken it?_

_They sat together in the nurse’s office, getting patched up by a tutting Mrs. Patterson, and Steve worked up the nerve to ask._

_“You okay, Buck?” he looked over at his friend from under his fringe._

_Bucky, who had remained silent throughout the whole ordeal, took a deep shuddering breath and grabbed Steve’s hand. He didn’t look at Steve, didn’t look at anything but his scuffed sneakers._

_Steve lost the nerve to ask any more questions as he watched Bucky sob noiselessly, shoulders shaking with a burden, the first he wouldn’t share with Steve._

* * *

_Over time, Bucky regained most of his former personality: he resumed being outgoing, cheerful and acted like his presentation hadn’t happened with Steve. They snuck into movies, got part-time jobs at the same place, slept over at Steve’s tiny apartment and stayed up late reading comics and talking about the future._

_Bucky never asked if or when Steve would present. Meanwhile, he went on mild suppressants that took the edge of his heats, and supposedly kept his scent toned down. Yet somehow, despite the drugs purported effects, Steve managed to smell Bucky with absolute clarity. Baked goods, cinnamon, vanilla, chocolate, milk and butter. It was amazing, but Steve would never say it aloud. Bucky got enough shit for his secondary gender._

_Throughout high school, Bucky would get hit on by Alphas and Steve would be unable to wade in and stake a claim on Bucky. And every time it happened, Bucky would either shrug off the knothead or lay it on him with his fists. Sometimes Steve would back him up. And every time after, when they were walking home or getting Band-Aids and alcohol wipes in the nurse’s office, Bucky would give him this sad sideways look when he thought Steve wasn’t paying attention._

* * *

_Then Steve turned eighteen, and things happened too fast for him to really get his head around it._

_He gave Bucky’s dad, George Barnes, a picture of him and his wife for his birthday, one he’d sketched in charcoal during a Barnes’ outing to the park. There were exclamations over its quality, and George put it in a place of pride on his work desk. The next day, someone caught sight of it, and word of the amazing artwork on George Barnes’ desk traveled. The week after, George Barnes’ boss’ boss dropped into his office, got a look at the picture and asked to meet the artist._

_Steve was introduced to Howard Stark, who offered him an exclusive art scholarship_ (“I’ll pay for everything: tuition, accommodation, food, fun, everything. All you gotta do is let me host your first and every other showing.” Steve had squinted and asked what he meant by ‘showing’.) _in the Florence Academy of Art and whatever other art qualification he deemed appropriate for brushing up his skills._

_It was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and Bucky agreed. He, George and Winifred said that Steve should take it, and make the most of it. They promised to write, to watch Steve’s apartment, to send care packages. Mostly George and Winifred though, because by that point, Bucky had gone to the coffee shop down the road where he worked Saturday afternoon shifts._

_That night, Steve thought about Bucky._

_Bucky in the summer, when they were scraping out their savings to go to Coney Island and eat all the popsicles and ride all the rides. When Bucky’s dark hair turned two shades lighter and his eyes the color of the sky in June rainstorms reflected Steve’s own smile. When they sat sweaty shoulder to sweaty shoulder on the train ride back, tired but happy with the memories they’d carved for the day._

_Bucky in winter, face glowing as he wrestled with his siblings and Steve for wishbone rights, and shoveling as much cranberry sauce over his turkey as he could. Laughing himself red in the face as he creamed Steve with snowballs, and shrieking when Steve got him back. Fingers cold to the touch but warming Steve’s soul as they brushed against each other in bed when he slept over for Christmas Eve._

_Steve thought about Bucky, how he was a perfect Omega that deserved the perfect Alpha. One that could take care of him, protect him, give him healthy pups if he wanted them, and loved him with every inch of their soul._

_Steve called Howard Stark the next day and took the offer._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twelve years later, Steve is a "blond American god" of an artist who has lost contact with Bucky. And Bucky? Well...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I owe all you readers a massive apology for failing to upload a chapter in ages. I've been waylaid with school, graduation, and a whole bunch of other stuff that doesn't really excuse my procrastination. Hopefully, I'll get back on a regular uploading schedule!

Steve’s suit felt too small for his body, despite being tailored for a five-figure sum just a week ago, and he couldn’t stop fidgeting. If he wasn’t worrying the stem of his still-full champagne glass, he was tapping his heel against the floor like a leprechaun itching to break into dance.

This antsy feeling wasn’t just because he was at his own art showing; in fact, the exhibition was one of his smaller ones, and the people milling around perusing his sketches weren’t adorned in vulgar opulence. They were part of a select list of invitees curated by Peggy Carter, his manager and ex-girlfriend, and were more interested in buying a piece of art that spoke to them emotionally than getting into his pants (a frequent occurrence thanks to the strict health regimen and supplements that Dr. Erskine had prescribed for him).

No, it was because the showing was in Brooklyn.

The CLEARING gallery was one of the better-known art galleries in Brooklyn, designed for modern art by up-and-coming international artists; Steve was less an emerging young artist on the scene and more a halfway-established icon with showings at art galleries around the world, including the Guggenheim and MoMA (courtesy of Howard Stark, then Pepper Potts when he’d passed on). In fact, he could probably run down to the apartment he once lived in with his mother without breaking a sweat. And just beyond it, the Barnes home.

He had fallen out of contact with Bucky, by no fault of the latter. Steve had always been plagued with the dull-knifed certainty that Bucky found someone more appropriate to be his Alpha, someone who wouldn’t pass out popping a knot or could hold his own in a fistfight. Someone not Steve.

So years passed, and though Bucky wrote faithfully every week, Steve’s replies dwindled. He started keeping Bucky’s letters in a biscuit tin, the most recent ones unopened for fear of potentially reading about Bucky finding an Alpha to mate. Despite his radio silence, Bucky persisted in writing regularly for a few more months, but eventually seemed to realize that Steve wasn’t going to write back. The letters tapered off, and eventually stopped around the same time Steve met Peggy, then Dr. Erskine.

Peggy’s interest in Steve was refreshing after years of being looked down on by Omegas and Alphas alike. She genuinely enjoyed his company and told him he was a sweetheart unlike most Alphas, who tended to think with their knots. When Steve wryly replied that he couldn’t afford to because of his fragile health, she introduced him to Dr. Erskine.

Under the doctor’s watchful eye, Steve grew into a muscular, six-foot tall “blonde American god” (as Dum-Dum liked to joke). Progress was slow, but after years of increasingly intense training, Steve could now run miles without feeling like his lungs were going to collapse.

Steve was still musing about the distance to the Barnes family home when someone soundlessly appeared next to him.

  “You’d think this was an exhibition of all your sins with that expression on your face, Rogers,” Natasha Romanov murmured, champagne glass on her lips. “Lighten up. Nobody’s going to burn you at stake, so quite looking like you’re going to bolt any second.”

Steve gave her a sideways look.

Natasha Romanov was an enigmatic young alpha female who had strong-armed her way into Steve’s personal life through passing remarks and astute observations. Steve still wasn’t entirely sure when they became friends or how, but he did appreciate her support, however sardonic it may be.

  “Been a long time since I was in Brooklyn,” Steve said at length.

 Natasha pursed her lips. “Well, it’s not like you’re busy for the foreseeable future. What’s the problem?”

Steve didn’t answer. How was he supposed to explain his faded relationship with Bucky? If he so much as mentioned the omega, he had no doubt Natasha would start suggesting potential dates again. After he and Peggy had amicably broken up and agreed to remain platonic, Steve hadn’t really given much thought to dating. His attraction to Peggy had largely stemmed from the flattered gratitude that someone could appreciate him beyond his pathetic appearances, but deep down he knew he was looking at the similarities between the beta brunette and Bucky. Both saw beyond his frail body, remained kind yet tough on him. If he was being truly honest, Steve would have admitted under much duress that Peggy had been a replacement for Bucky. But she’d installed herself as an irreplaceable good friend since, and Steve had in fact facilitated her connection to her current girlfriend, Angie.

  “I’m sure nobody would mind you sneaking out a little early,” Natasha said airily, watching the crowd. Steve was fairly certain that she had spy training of some sort; what else would explain the subtle paranoia and the low-key clandestine behavior? But if she said nobody would notice, then nobody would notice.

* * *

 

His vision was blurring, and his body was on fire. He was stumbling through a narrow corridor, an alley maybe, and the gravel and detritus was cutting into the bare soles of his feet. The only conscious thought in his hazy mind was to get away, to keep moving, while his aching body protested any further movement that jostled it.

Bucky wanted to cry, but he’d run out of tears around the _n_ th time he’d been raped by Brock Rumlow.

How had things become so bad? Bucky couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, but he knew he’d stopped caring about the crowd he’d hung out with when his parents had died all those years ago. In fact, Bucky had lost count of the days, the weeks and months. What year was it now? How old was he? _Where_ was he?

He bumped into a large metal object—a dumpster—and couldn’t help a weak cry as the impact amplified the pain wracking his body. His brain was foggy, but he was somehow hyperaware of the dried cum on his thighs, stomach and face. He hadn’t given (couldn’t afford) thought to clean up himself before making a break for it.

The last straw had been the blood that still leaked from between his legs, dripping a mess as he moved. The pup that hadn’t been born breathing. That was what broke him, and finally pushed him to run.

Bucky heaved a sob, and just wanted to lie down and curl up into a ball of self-misery and shame. But he had to keep moving, or Brock and his lackeys would catch up.

He forced himself to take another step forward, not really seeing where he was going, except focusing on getting to the main road, out of the alley. He could see a lamppost lighting the end of it, cars speeding by, a horn going in the distance. How long had it been since he was out on the street, in public? He focused on the light that was growing brighter and fuzzier and moving towards it.

Then someone stepped into it, their shadow cast over his face. He squinted, panicking at the thought of Brock or his goons, but was only slightly reassured when the scent wasn’t the same.

Only slightly, because the scent was still familiar, and right now familiar was bad news.

There was a sharp inhale from the other person, the sound of expensive fabric rustling faintly, and the shaky exhale of his name.

  “Bucky?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If my writing style seems kinda weird or off, I attribute it to my procrastination in writing. I haven't written fiction in MONTHS.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve reunite, sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM ON A ROLL. For those of you familiar with my early works on Ao3, you'll know I sometimes have these inspiration "spurts" that mean I roll out new chapters pretty quickly, sometimes in the same day, albeit short ones. I am on one of those "spurts" atm.

The omega’s hair was long and matted in filth, his body malnourished and covered in dirty rags. He stank of sour fear, acrid pain, and the rancid stench of multiple other Alphas. But beneath all that, Steve could still smell Bucky.

  “Bucky?”

The brunette gave him a bleary look of zero recognition and proceeded to collapse facedown. Steve rushed forward to kneel by him, and gently picked him up in his arms. Up close, he could see the dark circles, the foul stuff crusting on his body, and other bodily fluids that made his skin sticky and stink. But he could also see the cheekbones, the nose and mouth, if not the blue eyes that he would recognize anywhere as Bucky Barnes.

  “Bucky? Bucky, wake up,” Steve begged softly, holding the omega close. He smelled of sickness and pain, and Steve’s alpha instincts roared at him to help, to make it go away. He patted a sunken cheek in rising desperation, afraid of shaking him. “Bucky, please.”

His alpha pheromones must have escalated, because he could hear voices behind him and the sharp strike of stilettos on pavement.

  “Steve?” Peggy’s smooth British voice carried through the dingy alley. “Steve, what’s wrong?”

  “Peggy,” he looked up, almost overwhelmed with relief at the sight of someone he trusted to be able to help. Natasha wasn’t far behind her. “Peggy, help him.” 

* * *

  “He’s dehydrated, malnourished and a whole bunch of other things I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t understand, except that it’s bad,” Dr. Bruce Banner adjusted his glasses as he looked at the Stark-tech clipboard listing the omega’s condition. “He needs supplements in addition to a diet I’m having one of my dietician colleagues write up, vitamins, rehab and very likely therapy. From the samples I’ve taken off him, he’s been sexually active with multiple people. So far, no STDs have cropped up, but we’ll need to do a little more testing in the near future to confirm it.”

Steve had nearly snarled at the mention of Bucky’s “sexual activity” but swallowed it with the restraint borne of years of suppressing his feelings around Bucky. “Thanks, Bruce.”

  “No problem,” Bruce yawned, reminding them both of the late hour. It was 3AM in the hospital, and Steve didn’t trust anyone other than the beta to handle Bucky. The only other doctor Steve would willingly rely on to handle something so delicate and emotionally personal was Dr. Erskine, but the good doctor was miles away on another continent. “I’ve left further instructions about how to care for him on your Starkphone, let me know if you need anything else.”

The messy-haired beta paused at the door and glanced between Steve and Bucky. “This is off the record but…who is he to you, Steve?”

Steve was acquainted with Bruce through Tony, whom he’d met through Pepper, whom he’d been introduced to upon Howard’s passing. He’d bonded with Bruce and Pepper over their shared exasperation towards Tony’s antics. Basically, he trusted Bruce enough to say: “He’s my omega.”

His heart was quivering in his chest as he said it, like he couldn’t really believe it himself, that he could have the right to. But his face gave none of that away. Bruce seemed to accept it and left the room. Then he popped his head back and squinted at Steve. “You know I’ll be subjected to extensive interrogation and so forced to tell Tony and Pepper that, right?”

Steve sighed and nodded. Bruce left, properly this time, and the alpha returned his attention to the pale brunette lying on the bed. He pulled up a seat next to the bed, as close as possible without jostling it, and carefully took one cold hand in his. Bucky’s hand had somehow become…smaller. It dovetailed in Steve’s, nestling in his like it was meant to. He cupped it in both hands, hoping to infuse some warmth into it. Now that he’d been scrubbed down by a nurse and given a clean unscented hospital gown, Bucky smelled less terrible and a little more like himself. His natural scent was still overlaid with sickness, but Steve resolved to help him overcome it. His mind was already planning out how to make space for Bucky in his apartment in Manhattan, how things could be moved around, the spare room next to the studio cleared out and a proper bed put in. His own bedroom didn’t have a real bed; he usually just slept on the futon in his studio when he finished working or crashed on the couch to the television playing in the background when he wasn’t. He’d have to get clothes, food, vitamins…

The hand in his twitched, and Steve watched with bated breath as Bucky seemed to stir. Long, dark eyelashes fluttered, casting shadows against a prominent cheekbone, and lifted to reveal blue-grey irises that were heart-stopping in their familiarity. Steve’s face made a wonky kind of grin, and he was pretty sure the reason why he couldn’t see Bucky’s face clearly was because of the tears that had suddenly gathered in his own eyes.

Bucky seemed to gaze at the ceiling in confusion, before moving his head to land on Steve. Or rather, his hand encased in Steve’s. His dry, cracked lips parted a little.

  “Punk.”

Steve snorted, and his response was practically a reflex. “Jerk.”

Bucky smiled, and looked as if he wanted to say more, but then he passed out. Steve held on to that brief, barely-a-conversation for the rest of the wee hours.

* * *

 

Bucky swam back to consciousness to the muted sound of beeping, dry air, a warm bed and a mix of scents that reassured him he wasn’t in that shithole of an apartment. So, Bucky felt brave enough to open his eyes.

He was on his back, looking up at a speckled-eggshell ceiling, the paneled kind you’d find in classrooms, offices…and hospitals. He was in a hospital, and his body still ached but felt strangely scrubbed clean. Even between his legs. He felt panic rising in his chest, and his gaze wheeled around the room until it found a tousled blond head at his side. His breath seized in his chest, and the panic was momentarily stayed as he hesitated, breathing in the scent of this person beside him.

  “S-Steve?”

His throat was parched dry, and his voice was like rustling leaves than any real, proper sound. But the alpha lifted his head, startled like someone had put ice down the back of his shirt.

  “Bucky!” the man stood up, knocking back the chair he’d been sleeping in. He looked like a big, blonde human version of a puppy. A really muscular puppy.

  “What happened to you?” Bucky whispered, then coughed as his throat reminded him it was drier than the Nevada desert. “I thought you were…smaller.”

  “Yeah, well,” Steve hurried to pour him some water. “I met a doctor.”

The alpha, whose appearance Bucky took in like the estranged best friend he was, helped Bucky sit up and cautioned him to take slow sips. He smelled like he always had: warmth, comfort, safety. Steve’s presence always reassured Bucky, even at 100 pounds soaking wet, and now, looking like some underwear model off the cover of a magazine. The leather jacket and loose T-shirt did nothing to hide the defined physique beneath it. The alpha himself radiated self-assurance in his movements, nothing like the uncertain awkwardness of his youth. Steve, Bucky realized faintly, had _grown up_.

Meanwhile, what had Bucky done? He’d let himself fall into the hands of Brock Rumlow. He’d let himself get drunk, drugged, raped… Bucky moaned, low and pained as the memories rushed back up.

  “What’s wrong?” Steve’s hand fluttered around him anxiously, baby-blue eyes wide with concern. “Are you in pain?”

He couldn’t answer, didn’t want to. Now that he was here, in a hospital, safely away from Brock, he could do what he’d wanted back in the alley as he was escaping: he curled up in a fetal position under the blanket and burst into tears.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filler chapter: Bucky is discharged, and Steve burns with a need for justice (as he righteously does).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, confession time: I have no clue what I'm doing. I have no experience or knowledge of psychology, or rape trauma or anything. So, in order to avoid triggering anyone or saying something grossly way untrue, I need help writing the next few and possibly the rest of the chapters. I'm not sure how to proceed with Bucky's behaviour, or therapy or anything?? Like I have a general idea, but I'm definitely going to need some help with Bucky's side of things.
> 
> So, be warned: anything that Bucky does or about him in this chapter may be very unrealistic.

Once Steve had settled Bucky into his own room in the brand-new apartment (“ _what are you thinking, bringing a distressed omega that’s clearly been traumatized by alphas to your apartment? Your place_ stinks _of you and all your alpha pheromones, it’s going to overwhelm him and quite possibly trigger another panic attack!_ ” was Peggy’s input when he’d finally called and updated her on the situation and his plans), he faffed about and eventually just quietly let the omega know to call if he needed anything. After checking that there was water and some food within his reach, Steve shut the door behind him as he left. Door closed, he leaned back against it and sank to the ground with a hitched sigh.

Watching Bucky’s breakdown in the hospital had been terrifying; Steve had never seen Bucky cry like that, not even when Greg and all those other punks in school had come after him for being an omega. The closest would probably be Bucky’s sulky tears and trembling but stiff lower lip when Winifred Barnes lectured him for leaving his youngest sister behind at the grocer’s (“it’s not like we’d miss one, we have so many of them,” was Bucky’s comeback). But what came after that breakdown was even worse for Steve: Bucky became nonresponsive, staring off into the distance with a glassy-eyed look that didn’t register anything. When the doctors and nurses came by to poke, prod and question him, he remained blankly unaware of their presence or intrusion. The discussion that had followed on whether to discharge him or not due to his mental state was fairly heated, but that didn’t pull him out of the stupor either. When Steve had bodily lifted him into the wheelchair and drove him to the new apartment Peggy had miraculously set up for him in hours, he didn’t so much as twitch.

  “I’m no psychologist, but I’d say he’s mentally processing a lot right now,” Bruce had told Steve in quiet aside. “Keep him hydrated and fed as much as you can. I’ll write you a contact that might help.”

Now, Steve pushed his hands through his hair, wondering desperately what to do. For all his artistic imagination, he could never quite picture how his reunion with Bucky would take place. Certainly nothing like this.

At some point, he finally stood up and went to the kitchen. It was all brand spanking new, shiny and glossy and fully furnished with pots and pans. Someone, most likely Peggy, had stocked up the pantry and fridge with the basics and some fresh produce. He looked over Bucky’s nutrition instructions and set about making some of the suggested dishes. They were all simple stuff, didn’t really require much concentration but following the steps helped his mind stop overloading with worry. But as his hands worked and the quiet of his mind flowed, his thoughts somehow turned to what had _caused_ Bucky to be like that.

Who had hurt him so badly? Why would they do such a thing? There had been bruising that suggested forced captivity, for months at least, and several other indicators that strongly alluded to cruel and criminal behavior. A dark, burning anger towards these unknown bastards rose up in him, making his movements choppy and forceful. It was only when he nearly sliced the skin off his knuckle that he stepped back to lean against the island counter and take a deep breath. Bucky might not be able to respond to any interrogative questions about his abusers, but Steve had some contacts that might be able to dig up information nonetheless.

* * *

 

After helping Steve and Bucky get to the hospital last night, the godsend that was Peggy Carter had promptly filed a police report. Detectives were clamoring to question Bucky, but someone from higher up the food chain had apparently warned them off until further notice. It made sense to pursue the trail while it was still relatively fresh, but it would appear that their superiors were actually sensitive and understanding of Bucky’s emotional state. Steve would have been surprised, if he wasn’t 60% certain that either Pepper Potts or the ever-mysterious Natasha had something to do with it. He _was_ , however, apologetically given a deadline. The case would be set aside as non-priority if Bucky didn’t get questioned soon.

A quiet knock at the front door pulled Steve out of his downward spiral of thoughts. He turned off the stove and moved to look through the peephole. It was Natasha, and there was someone else with her.

  “C’mon Rogers,” Natasha stared right back at him through the peephole. “I don’t have all day, and neither does Clint.”

  “Or Lucky,” an unfamiliar voice chimed in.

Steve sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANYONE WILLING TO HELP?? Otherwise this fic ain't going anywhere. DM me on AO3 or PM me on my tumblr (which goes by the same username of ishipitsobad).


End file.
